Sunday Afternoon M7 ATF AU
by senorabutterfly
Summary: Sunday afternoon at the ranch from Ezra's POV. No murder or mayhem at all... in fact pretty lazy! Not mine, no profit made. Does discuss various types of food, so if you don't do meat, you might want to give it a skip.


Sunday Afternoon M7 ATF AU

Five of the members of the ATF's Team Seven stepped out of their vehicles in front of the sprawling ranch house at leader Chris Larabee's. Nathan and Josiah carried covered bowls in their hands, and Buck and Vin had a large cooler slung between them. Their youngest agent hobbled slowly behind them, trying to keep his bandaged foot and ankle off of the ground as much as possible.

Larabee actually wasn't home yet since he'd gone to pick Ezra, their remaining member, up at his townhouse. The undercover agent had been slightly injured in the same bust that caused JD to sprain his ankle, so Nathan had decreed that Standish didn't need to drive himself yet. Ezra wasn't particularly happy with the decision, but when Chris threatened to confiscate his keys if he showed up on his own, the chestnut-haired man agreed to let the leader come pick him up.

The team all had keys to each other's places, so Buck let the group into Larabee's house and he and Vin carried the cooler to the deck. Josiah and Nathan stopped to put the food they carried in the fridge, then they joined the others. They each grabbed a beer and settled into the deck and lawn chairs that were spread around the generous space. Chris had gotten the charcoal ready before he left, so Vin lit it so that it would be ready by the time Larabee and Standish got there. Ezra had been undercover for almost four months before the bust and had therefore missed quite a few of the almost weekly gatherings at the ranch. The others admitted that it would be good to have their friend back among them, even if it did mean that they'd lose more money than usual in the Sunday afternoon card games.

Chris' Ram pulled up as they were chuckling quietly at the thought. The blond and Ezra climbed out. The gambler had decided to dress to suit his compatriots, so wore . . . admittedly designer . . . jeans and an emerald green polo shirt with leather cowboy boots. Chris sported his normal black, but this time his jeans were so faded that they looked almost gray. A sapphire blue tee shirt covered his torso, and ebony western boots and a matching belt formed his accessories.

The two men headed to the deck, Larabee surreptitiously watching his companion to be sure he was alright. The undercover agent had been thrown against a warehouse wall by one of the miscreants they'd arrested, and had dislocated his trick shoulder. Nathan had put it back, but the area was bruised and still tender, as were the gambler's ribs underneath where he'd hit the concrete blocks.

Ezra mounted the steps first. The five men ensconced there called their greetings, Buck delving into the cooler to pull out one of the boutique beers that the smaller man liked. Voicing his thanks, the gambler settled gingerly on the wooden glider that sat near the railing. Chris followed him up, grabbing the beer that Wilmington tossed his way.

"The grill ready?" asked the blond as he popped the top on his drink and took a sip.

Vin nodded. "Yep, charcoal's all spread out and ready to go. Just needs the meat."

Chris nodded in approval and started in the side door to the kitchen.

"Do you need any help?" Ezra thought to ask before the lean form disappeared.

"Don't think so. All I have to do is season the meat and put it on. Won't take but a minute, but thanks."

Standish nodded. He'd been undercover so long that he found himself feeling a little like a guest instead of one of the boys, but he hoped the sensation would evaporate by the end of the afternoon.

"So what is Mr. Larabee going to fix for us today?" he asked in anticipation.

"Chicken and pork chops." offered Vin as he licked his lips at the words.

JD commented next. "Chris put the chicken in something to soak before he left. Don't remember what it was . . ." The kid licked his own lips in anticipation.

"Pineapple juice and soy sauce." contributed Nathan as he absently rubbed his stomach.

"Gonna taste like a piece of Hawaii." added Josiah as he tried not to drool.

"It will be quite delectable, I have to say." Ezra got a look of approval on his face at the thought. Larabee had fixed the dish before and it always turned out delicious.

It would probably surprise most people, but Chris was a good cook and did most of the grilling for the group. And if they had steaks, he or Buck always did them. They both had a knack for knowing just how hot the charcoal should be and when to turn them to keep them from being tough. Standish's mouth watered at the thought. The duo were the only two who could make steaks so tender you could cut 'em with a fork, and so well seasoned you didn't even need steak sauce.

If they were having chili, that was Josiah's forte. The man did make a mean bowl of chili. You just had to be sure not to let him hand you the flamethrower version unless you wanted your tongue to catch fire or you were immune to hot peppers. The profiler usually had to make two versions . . . mild and extra hot. Vin liked it hot, but the rest liked mild and didn't seem to want to have their mouth set on fire most of the time. Ezra smiled as he had the thoughts. Of course, Mr. Sanchez's 'mild' was what would be medium-bordering-on-hot to most people. The gambler had to admit that it was good though.

When they had a Cajun/creole night Nathan cooked, and to give the medic his due, he made a great jambalaya. Ezra grinned again. He also fixed an excellent shrimp Etouffee, which JD simply referred to as "that French shrimp thing."

Nathan had explained that he was stationed in New Orleans for a while when he was in the Army and discovered that he liked Cajun and creole food. He also sometimes did crawfish Etouffee, but to be honest the undercover agent wasn't as fond of it. And he'd never gotten into the boiled crawfish. Even though it was popular with many, sucking the heads of a river crustacean just didn't really appeal to him.

His ruminations were interrupted by Buck throwing a wadded napkin at his roommate. The others were talking about food as well, and JD had just mentioned something that he didn't like.

Wilmington had responded with "Which is sayin' a lot, since you'll eat most anything that ain't nailed down."

"Bite me, Buck!"

"Nah, ya ain't tender enough and ya ain't got enough curves." The ladies' man gave a bobble of his eyebrows.

A chorus of six voices said "Shut up, Buck" at the same time.

The lanky agent just grinned, then got back to the original conversation. Vin had apparently just mentioned that he'd found a lake with some wild ducks on it. Ezra knew some people didn't care for game, but the sniper knew how to cook it so that it didn't taste wild. Tanner's duck and rice dressing was actually very good and reminded the gambler of some of the meals one of his aunts used to make.

Ezra himself also cooked occasionally, to most people's amazement. As Vin put it, if they wanted 'high-brow' food, Standish was the one to choose. The chestnut head cocked in reflection. Even he developed a desire for a home cooked meal every once in a while. Not that he could tell you what such a thing was from his childhood . . . he wasn't sure his mother even knew what a fryin' pan was. But he had stayed with an aunt on occasion who was an excellent cook and she had taught him much of what he knew. The rest he'd picked up along the way from various people. Josiah was fond of his beef Wellington, and Nathan liked his pasta dishes, particularly his fettucine Alfredo. He let a pleased smile cross his face at the thought. Now that he was back in his own skin so to speak, he'd have to make a point of buyin' the ingredients soon and fixin' some for the medic.

Chris exited the house and began putting the chicken and pork on the grill. The sizzling sound made Ezra's mouth water. He'd eaten at some high-end restaurants while he was undercover, but he had to admit that he'd missed these Sunday afternoon get-togethers with his compatriots. And it wasn't always just casual weekends. Chris actually cooked quite a bit. He fixed the Thanksgiving turkey every year, and did glazed ham with pineapple rings on top at Christmas, and had even started making Sarah's chicken and dumplings every once in a while and inviting the team over.

Buck and JD again brought him back from his musings.

"Well, the only thing the Kid can fix is cereal." commented the ladies' man in answer to some remark that Ezra had missed.

"Ok, so I burned some bacon once." JD answered defensively.

"More'n once, Kid." Buck responded, making a face.

"Yeah, and I appreciated the thought, but the toast you made me when I had the 'flu was almost charcoal." Vin added.

"And the oatmeal you made for me when I got bronchitis looked like it had been cremated first." Ezra pointed out, joining the discussion. "I didn't even know one could make oatmeal look black…"

Nathan continued the refrain. "Them scrambled eggs you cooked that one time were pretty runny, too…"

"Alright, alright! So I'm not a good cook. My mom was too sick by the time I was old enough to help to teach me much. At least I've tried."

Josiah tried to reassure the young agent. "It's the thought that counts, son."

"The thought would probably taste better, though." Buck mumbled under his breath. JD found a bottle cap and tossed it at his surrogate big brother. The tall brunet just grinned and caught it in midair.

"Alright, meat's done." Chris' announcement halted any further harassment of the electronics whiz.

Nathan jumped up with alacrity. "I'll get the potato salad and slaw."

Josiah rose more slowly. "And I'll get the vegetable plate. There's tomatoes, celery, pickles, onions, and bell peppers."

"You get any hot peppers, 'siah?" Vin asked.

"Yes, brother Vin, I got you and me some jalapeños. I made some stuffed ones for the others."

"Cream cheese?" Ezra ventured to ask.

The preacher nodded. "Cream cheese and chive filling."

"Mmm!" was the gambler's uncharacteristic response, which brought a smile to the big man's face.

Buck almost danced his way into the kitchen after the others.

"I'll get the Texas toast for Chris to pop on the grill."

"Bring some shredded cheese, too, Bucklin'." the sniper added.

Chris grinned. "I take it you want melted cheese on the toast, Vin?"

The slender form nodded with a lick of his lips.

Soon the picnic table was loaded with food as well as plastic plates and sturdy silverware. Ezra helped carry out glasses of iced tea and soda. While he abhorred menial labor as such, the mundane chore was making him feel more like a part of the group again, so he did it without complaining.

Everyone filled their plate, and then the group picked their spot to sit and dug in. The marinated chicken breasts were delicious and the pork chops were perfectly seasoned and almost fork tender. The other items were delectable as well, plus there was ice cream and strawberries in the freezer. All in all, it was going be a great meal.

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After everyone had rested, sated, for a little while, Ezra sat up and rubbed his hands together.

"Alright gentlemen… who's ready to partake of a few games of chance?"

"Who's ready to lose some money to ya, ya mean." Vin muttered good-naturedly.

"I thought it was the same thing." the gambler answered with a smile that showed his gold tooth.

"With you it is." JD responded, getting stiffly to his feet and hobbling toward the kitchen door.

The rest of the group slowly stood as well, some yawning and stretching.

"Alright, let's go make our weekly donation to Ez's suit fund." Buck muttered as he followed JD to the door. The others straggled along behind the duo.

"Suit fund, indeed." Ezra grumbled. "I couldn't buy a new shirt with what I usually win off your parsimonious bets."

"Parsi…what?" JD asked as they entered the house.

"He means we're cheapskates, Kid" Buck answered with a swipe at the hat JD wore backward.

"Oh. Well, ain't losin' my whole check to ya Ezra."

The undercover agent sighed. "Fine, we shall play low stakes yet again. It's a good thing I enjoy the practice, since I'm certainly not in these games for the money."

"Speak for yourself, Ez. I need all the cash I can get." said Buck with a wink.

Vin made a face as he walked behind Wilmington.

"Hell, most of us will probably fold before the second bet."

Ezra looked at the group with a slightly jaundiced eye.

"You gentlemen make me sound like a poker piranha. I do not normally play cut-throat cards with you. Plus you make it seem like none of you ever win when playing with me." Green eyes cut to Chris. "Mr. Larabee for example wins more frequently than you would lead people to believe."

Chris actually had a poker face that was almost impossible to read and the man had no real tells. He simply put on a blank expression or used the feral grin that he employed with those who annoyed him, making it hard to tell what he had.

"'Cause he just intimidates the hell outta of opponents with that smirk. Ya don't know whether he's got a good hand, is bluffin', or is gonna just shoot ya." answered Vin with a grin.

Chris gave said one-sided smirk at the tracker's comment. It did indeed remind a person of a big cat toying with its prey before pouncing.

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Actually, the sniper was a pretty decent player, too. He had a good poker face and could bluff pretty well, but if he had a crap hand he didn't even bother most of the time.

Buck won a hand or two, but when he had a bad hand, the explosives expert was quite vocal.

"Hell, Ez…I got about as much chance a winnin' this hand as a one-legged man at a butt-kickin' contest" he commented as he threw his cards down in disgust at the beginning of one round.

The undercover agent just smiled calmly.

"Don't blame me if Lady Luck is immune to your animal magnetism, Mr. Wilmington."

"That's animal maggotism" JD teased.

"It's magnetism, kid. It just don't work when there's a man dealin'."

Ezra grinned. "Shall I go find a female to deal?"

Even Josiah threw down his cards with a disgusted sigh.

"She'd have to do better than this hand. Fold."

Ezra turned to JD.

"Your turn Mr. Dunne. And please try not to be too stingy with your bet this time."

"Heck Ez, ya didn't give me enough to be anything more than cheap. I raise a dollar."

Nathan eyed his cards consideringly.

"I'll see JD's raise." The medic added his own dollar to the pot.

Ezra sighed. "This game wouldn't pay for a new pair of socks, much less an Italian suit."

"You don't need any more designer suits, Ezra." Chris said as he added his dollar to the kitty and then raised another dollar.

Emerald eyes flickered with amusement as the gambler added his own money to the small pile.

The handsome form allowed his poker face to slip for a moment as he watched his friends . . . no, his brothers . . . with a benevolent expression. Indeed, the paltry amount on the table would barely pay for a cheap tie. But the money actually didn't matter to him at the moment. His mother would loath him for even thinking it, but he'd trade every high-stakes card game he'd been in the last ten years for this . . . a lazy afternoon with good companions who accepted him for who he was and made him better than he'd ever expected to be, and welcomed him back after an absence as if he'd never been gone. There really was nothing better than Sunday afternoon with your family.

By DMA


End file.
